Bother
by bananaquit
Summary: College fiddauthor. Ford doesn't really know what he's doing, but he's trying.


Ford turned the knob and pushed open the door to the dorm he shared with his boyfriend (though they were "just friends" to anyone who had the nerve to ask), placing his backpack on the floor and pushing the door closed with his foot in one smooth motion. A small smile graced his visage as his warm brown gaze fell upon his roommate, who was currently hard at work one some assignment or another. Fiddleford's classes nearly always ended earlier than his, so Ford was almost always the last one to arrive back at the dorm. Fidds liked to tease him for being an overachiever, but the rather packed schedule and "intense" courseload was something Ford liked to take in stride.

"Hey, Fidds." he greeted with a warm tone before taking a few steps over to the desk where the leaner man was sitting.

"Hey," Fiddleford muttered, his tone almost dejected.

Ford's brow furrowed in slight concern at the unenthusiastic response. He'd never been very good at reading people, but he'd learned to pick up on Fiddleford's emotional cues after knowing him for some time. Sometimes that was his tone, sometimes that was his body language. He adjusted his glasses before gently placing a six-fingered hand on Fiddleford's shoulder. Seeing as Fiddleford was clearly stressed and Ford didn't really know what else to do, he leaned down and attempted to give him a soft peck on the cheek. It was intended as a means of comfort, since nothing "romantic" usually happened when they reunited at the end of the evening (apart from the occasional kiss on top of the head to say hello).

However, rather than accept the gesture, Fiddleford turned his head away and shrugged Ford's hand off of his shoulders. The Tennessee native went back to scribbling calculations in his notebook. "Not right now, Stanford. I got work that needs doin'." Fiddleford grumbled, southern drawl much thicker and more noticeable than usual. Ford frowned. He knew from experience that Fidds tended to resort to his southern mannerisms when he was upset.

Ford straightened his posture, fingers absentmindedly tugging at the hem of his shirt. One hand rose to his chin as he considered the man before him. It was unusual for Fidds to flat-out deny his affection, since it'd taken so long for him to grow comfortable expressing it in the first place. There wasn't much awkwardness anymore, seeing as they'd technically been in a "relationship" (neither of them would ever say that publicly, of course) for at nearly a year and a half now

Fiddleford's seemingly bad mood was a puzzling switch of roles. On any other day, it'd be Fiddleford trying to get him to relax and he'd be the grumpy one pushing him away. Today had honestly been great to Stanford Pines. He'd received his scores on the array of exams he'd taken yesterday and passed with flying colors. It wasn't as if that was anything new, but it always gave him an extra boost of self-confidence and made him hold himself a little bit higher knowing he was still on the fast track to success despite not attending the school of his dreams. Thinking about all that had happened and all that he'd accomplished since he'd met Fiddleford caused his chest to swell with something close to pride, but also made him even more determined to get through to his friend.

He watched the Fiddleford writing feverishly, one hand gripping his hair tightly and one knee bouncing rapidly. He looked tense - perhaps Ford could convince him to relax for a while? A smirk appeared on his face and an eyebrow quirked mischievously. Feeling uncharacteristically cocky, Ford grabbed the back of the chair and pulled it out from the desk before Fiddleford could react. He sat himself down on Fidds' lap so that he was facing the back of the chair. He wouldn't normally be so forward, but his good mood had gone to his head a bit. He draped his arms over his shoulders, leaning

"Ford, I…" Fiddleford opened his mouth to scold him, but was abruptly cut off as Ford pressed his mouth against his. Fidds accepted the kiss, frustrated yet flustered. Ford allowed himself enjoy the warmth of Fidd's body against him and the slight pressure of their lips locked together for a few seconds before realizing that he was essentially _forcing himself_ on him. Feeling guilty, he broke off the kiss and slid a gentle hand onto Fiddleford's cheek.

"My apologies. You just seem stressed, and… I'm… That was rude. I'm sorry." He brushed his fingers underneath Fiddleford's chin. "It's just… You're so cute…" He buried his face in his neck to hide the heat that was beginning to spread to his cheeks, grinning.

Fidds grabbed either side of his face and pulled him back. Ford looked him in the eyes, happy to see amusement replace his exasperation. "You, Stanford Pines, are a jackass. Now kiss me."

Ford gladly obliged, leaning the chair against the desk slightly and using his feet as a counterbalance to tip Fidds just a bit underneath him. He slid his tongue into his lover's mouth, kissing him deeper and harder. He felt hands tighten around his back and heard a small sound of pleasure escape the other. Their lips moved together in a hypnotizing rhythm as their tongues explored each other's mouths. Ford tilted his head this way and that, experimenting with the angle of the kiss. He opened and closed his mouth ever so slightly, massaging Fiddleford's soft lips. Fiddleford moved one hand up his back and dug his fingers into Ford's soft, fluffy hair. They both paused to take a breath. Ford smiled down at him as a breathless and almost giddy Fiddleford stared back at him.

That was when Ford lost his balance. The chair slid out from under him, causing Fiddleford to fall backwards and hit the back of his head on the edge of the desk with a loud slam before the chair clattered to the floor and took both of them with it. Ford managed to orient his arms underneath him and prevented himself from crushing his partner. Taking a few deep breaths, he looked down to find that Fidds was out cold.

He immediately became frantic and kicked the chair out of the way before wrapping his arms around his unconscious friend back and lifting him into his arms. He carefully set his boyfriend gently down on his bed. Ford knelt beside him for a few moments, worry clouding his mind. What if he had a major head injury and he had been the one to cause it in his haste and foolishness? He stood and grabbed the chair, setting it upright and sitting down. He rolled up beside the bed, putting his hands to his head as he took a moment to process the situation. He hadn't meant for it to end up this way. It was all his fault that Fiddleford was hurt. He should have just left him to his work.

He debated whether or not to seek medical attention. In all likelihood, he would wake up in a few minutes with a sore head and a bad bruise. Then again, he could have done some serious damage. Was it worth making a scene of carrying him down to the med wing? There were already rumors… he didn't want to add to the whispers he'd heard around campus.

Ford got to his feet, letting out a sigh. The confidence he'd possessed when he walked in was in shambles and his anxiety level was through the roof. He couldn't just let Fidds sit there in his condition. So he adjusted his glasses, straightened his vest, and walked out the door. He returned a couple minutes later with a couple of pain pills and a cold pack. It'd been easy enough to tell the med students a little white lie about how Fidds had bumped his arm when the evidence wasn't there in the room with him. He set the pills on the desk for when he woke up and gently rolled his friend onto his side. He knelt down beside the bed and pressed the ice pack to the back of his head.

Minutes ticked by as he anxiously waited for Fiddleford to wake up. Letting out another sigh, he crawled onto the bed beside him so that he was spooning his injured classmate, one hand draped over his side and one still holding the ice pack against his head. He leaned his head on his shoulder and shut his eyelids tightly, breathing in the smell of battery acid and sawdust that always lingered around Fiddleford. He clenched his teeth as he thought of his own stupidity, squeezing Fidds' arm without realizing it.

Fiddleford stirred against him. Ford's breath caught in his throat. "Fiddleford." he spoke, an amount of relief in his tone. The southerner rolled over onto his other side so that he was facing Ford, who quickly sat up and tried to casually lean back against the wall. The few seconds it took for his boyfriend to respond seemed like an eternity as he sat there on the bed, his whole body tense.

"Wha - Stanford?" Fiddleford mumbled, opening his eyes. His hand immediately flew to his head. "My head hurts somethin' fierce, emJesus/em." he grunted, sitting up as well.

Ford grabbed the pills from off the table and them to him. "Here. This should help." he offered, shifting into a kneeling position and pressing the cold pack against him once more with his other hand.

Fiddleford swallowed the pills with one gulp and took took over the job of holding the ice pack. He furrowed his brow, confused as he tried to recall the moment before he blacked out. "What happened?"

Ford rubbed the back of his neck, uneasy. He spoke without looking at his partner. "I lost my balance, Fiddleford. The chair slipped. You fell and hit your head on the desk. I… I'm really sorry." The words were hard to get out, but there was really no one to blame but himself. "It was my fault. I forced you to do something you didn't want to and you ended up hurt because of it."

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "You were just trying to help me take my mind off of things." Fiddleford leaned forward and gave him a light, feathery kiss on the forehead.

Ford smiled slightly. He gave Fidds a shy glance for a millisecond before his gaze fell to the sheets underneath him once more. "I should have listened to you, though."

"Well, listenin's something you can always do more of, stuck-up jerk." he teased, setting the cold pack down for a moment to lean forward and give Ford a hug.

Ford smiled and rolled his eyes, though he knew it was true. He took hold of one of Fiddleford's hands. "Would you like to talk about what's been bothering you?"/

Fidds shrugged and pulled out of the hug. "If you wouldn't mind it."

"You can talk to me about anything, Fiddleford. You know that, right?"

"Well, I dunno." Fiddleford looked away. "Sometimes I feel like I'm pestering you."

Ford brushed the hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand. "Fiddleford, you never _bother_ me." he spoke, a slight breathiness and disbelief in his voice. He didn't make it seem that way, did he? Concern filled his gaze as he leaned closer, lowering his voice. "I love you." he said softly, kissing him on the cheek.

Fiddleford smiled slightly, tightening his grip on Ford's hand. "I love you too, Stanford. Don't ever forget that, 'mmkay?"

Ford just hugged him close, glad to have Fiddleford at his side.


End file.
